


Into the Flames

by elffyness



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: "Just Friends", Arranged Marriage, F/M, Pining, Rivalmance, Yearning, mutual growth <3, not angst heavy!, sebhawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:29:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27704162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elffyness/pseuds/elffyness
Summary: Overcome by grief from Leandra's death, Helena Hawke agreed to an alliance by marriage with the infamous Constantine De Launcet. Her only goal is to honor her parents' wishes but her friendship turned romance with the undecided princeling of Starkhaven has put her choice in jeopardy. It turns out, appointing your secret crush as your noble advisor can create some intimate, feelings-inducing situations. Will the two of them follow through with their assigned duties, Sebastian remaining a chantry brother and Helena going through with her arranged marriage? Or will they choose their own desires?
Relationships: Female Hawke/Sebastian Vael
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. In the Market for a Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @bluhawke on tumblr for more sebhawke content teehee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helena has to find a suitable gift for the Comte and Comtesse in Hightown's busy square. Thankfully, she has Isabela to keep her on track.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, welcome to my longfic hehe. Any mentions you see to the word "Judian," or country in the West, refers to a fictional country I created in order to incorporate Chinese culture into my Hawke. The story does not depend on this lore, but simply gives Helena cultural context and a reflection of my background. Hope you enjoy :)

Helena inspected the paper fan, its edges lined with lace frills. They curled in ways familiar and foreign, threaded with a white, fine string. To some degree, the lace functioned like the colorful feathers of a peacock; A hallmark of beauty and grace, considered the epoch of natural creatures as it catches the gaze of anyone lucky enough to be in its path... but at the end of the day, its plumage could make it no more than what it was at its core: An annoying bird.

And this fan? A cheap knock-off. 

“You have lovely taste, Madame,” the merchant sauntered over, a gleam in her eyes. Her curls were freshly pressed, lips flowered with the darkest red. With a cat-like gaze she prowled along the table, hands folded neatly in front of her. “This fan is crafted from redwood bark, a scarce material from a far off land. It is a unique hybrid of East and West, putting a refined spin on the traditional design. The women of Kirkwall’s most premier class are its primary users.” When met with the Champion’s silence, her lips stretched into a tight smile. “Ideal for engagements, weddings… events of the like.”

A critical frown appeared on Helena’s face as her fingers twisted the lace, its application haphazard on the delicate blue paper. She sighed, the words slipping out from her lips before she had a chance, or care, to stop them.

“This is a bastardization of our fans. Tell me, why would you do this?”

The merchant’s clear eyes widened a fraction as the Champion spoke, her tone gentle as a silk blanket, but words as cool as ice. 

Helena gestured at the seam’s gangly stitches. “Fans are supposed to be lightweight, directing the flow of the wind through sleek, proportioned design,” she snapped her wrist in one fluid motion, attempting to close the instrument. The outcome was a failure, ostentatious lace catching between flimsy wooden spokes. Helena stared in disdain at the sad thing before turning her gaze to the bewildered shopkeep, her face reddening with every passing second. 

“We designed these perfectly, but I should have known you Easterners would find a way to ruin them…” Inked words and lace patterns appeared in her mind, inspiring a jaded shift in her chest that served to deepen her scowl. “Must everything be ridden in frills for you all to show respect?” she pitched, voice rising in anger. “Your nobles are clothed in the most inane fabrics, your jewelry excessive beyond all belief, and you deign to apply that nonsense to our fans? You’re a disgr--”

“Okay!”

Her beratement was interrupted by a ringed hand wrapping around her wrist, another plucking the fan from her tightening grip. Dark brown locs intruded into the line of her threatening stare as the item was placed on the table. Isabela smiled sweetly at the merchant, backing Helena away from the stall with her body. 

“I’m so sorry about her, she has been lashing out  _ all _ day. Arranged marriages, you understand the type,” she said, herding her irritable friend into the Hightown crowd and away from the baffled gapes of nearby patrons who had caught wind of her spectacle. 

Huffing as she walked, Helena closed her eyes, the sounds of Kirkwall failing to reach the forefront of her mind while she steamed on her sour interaction with the merchant.

_ Maker’s ass. How could shopping be so difficult? _

Like a dejected child, Helena allowed Isabela to guide her, an icey expression remaining as the short rogue eyed her with silent browns.

“It’s not a marriage,” she finally responded, to which Isabela snorted.

“Oh, sure. Not yet. Not until you meet with the Comte and Comtesse, make arrangements, negotiate the price of your freedom and sexual desires, and are rewarded with an engagement to a man who can’t tell port from starboard,” she gasped, a hand feigning over her mouth. “Thankfully, it’s all worth it for the security of the Hawke family legacy!”

Helena faltered at her sarcasm, the crease in her brow growing as the pirate sized her up. “You...Ugh,” she exclaimed, her brown eyes flying towards the crowd. “Can we just focus on finding a gift for the De Launcets?”

Isabela’s face furrowed as Helena turned away, ending the conversation.

“If you say so.”

The market was bustling with life today, weekend afternoons prime shopping hours for the majority of Kirkwall’s population. Lords and Ladies scurried across the square, their servants trailing after them with armfuls of goods as the two of them passed. One in particular balanced a precarious set of cutlery on the nose of an Orlesian lion bust, making Helena cringe as she swayed to avoid him. Money couldn’t buy taste, could it?

The fact was, though, that as much as she frowned upon the gaudy displays, she had spent her morning canvassing the market for a gift of similar design. After all, it would not be long till she would once again meet the Comte and Comtesse. Whenever that day would come, Helena was determined to be prepared. This deal was far too important to her to fall through on the basis of social ineptitude.

At least she knew she had come to the right place. From ivory sculpted phoenixes of the West to the latest silk scarves imported from Antiva, Hightown had it all. Merchants beckoned her with crooning melodies as Helena scanned the stalls for any objects of interest, her gaze catching on a display of expensive furnishings. Gracefully she changed course, making her way towards the booth, Isabela trailing after her.

“You know, I still don’t get why you’re doing this,” the pirate said, running her eyes over the rugs and vases that lined the stall. “Yes, you were never going to be the one who jumped to the sea at the first chance, but this? Wedding yourself off from all the delicious hunks and eligible singles of Kirkwall?” There was a pause before her voice lowered, gentler in its velvet tones. “Hurt people really don’t walk the same after, do they?”

Helena’s lips pinched as she grit her teeth. In an effort to focus on something else, she trained her gaze on the threaded rug before her, its central feature the image of a lion slaying a twisted dragon. “I’m not fragile, Bela,” she mumbled back, before flagging down the merchant to ask the price. As he approached, Helena returned her stare, fingering the beige trim, her mid-toned skin contrasting against its dark red hues. “Fenris broke up with me, and my mother was murdered.” She tightened her grip on its edge, feeling the first prickles of ice teasing against the palm of her hand. Tension swelled in her chest until that familiar chill made its way through her body, putting her at ease. She relaxed her fingers, her eyes far away.

“I’m just doing my duty.”

Despite those events occurring years ago, Helena had, until recently, been at the mercy of her memories, the sickening crack of bones and shattering of her heart feelings that managed to elude the dull blade of time. There had been days when rising from the bed was impossible, and her stomach accepted little more than a few dry rice crackers. The tea garden she had lovingly built was empty of her presence and Baobao the only lump of company allowed into her room. 

Throughout the first month, knocks had resounded against her door, the quick and easy pace of Isabela’s the only one to be let in. With her entrance came sighing hugs and doting comments prepared to protect Helena from the violence of her own cries. Merrill had been kind enough to feed her koi fish with Fenris’ instructions, and when she eventually ventured out of her dark room, she found that there was not a single place in the house untouched by the care of her friends.

A sweet-toned exhale from the pirate drew Helena’s gaze to crooked brows and dark eyes, stirring regret in her chest. As difficult as the situation was and would continue to be, Isabela refused to leave her side. The woman returned to possible death bearing the Tome of Koslun, talked Helena through her first real breakup, and accompanied her on ridiculous mission after ridiculous mission, all in the name of friendship. Now she was sitting through this arranged marriage fiasco, clearly opposed, and yet willing to accompany her to make it happen. Maker knows Isabela was no easy friend herself, but she more than made up for it with her companionship and loyalty. Helena owed her some kindness.

With a slow exhale, she released her jaw, a tentative smile spreading her lips.

“Don’t you start worrying about me now. I can handle an arranged marriage. You have more important things...” her mouth twitched, “and people… to see to.” 

Isabela appraised her for a moment before chuckling, her eyes twinkling at her friend’s shift in attitude. Instead of replying, a soft ‘oh get on with it’ narrated her relaxed slump along the stall’s beam. Helena felt her chest lighten at that sigh, grateful to have called a temporary truce in their friendship; at least for the moment. She had a feeling Isabela wouldn’t let her off the hook that easily.

The rattle of coins caught her focus as she turned her attention to the merchant who had approached her. His green eyes shimmered as he caught sight of the Amell crest on her belt, overjoyed to speak at length with a local celebrity about the quality of his goods. 

This would be a tough one.

It took twenty minutes and several half-hearted promises, but Helena managed to bring the price down by a sovereign and fifty silver: quite the steal. As their spirited conversation came to a close, Helena signed a slip to have the rug delivered to her estate, parting with several glistening gold pieces for the down payment. 

“Finally,” Isabela said, watching the exchange conclude.

The pair left the stand, the question of lunch passed between them and agreed upon, as the afternoon sun continued its descent into the evening. The Hanged Man was out of the question at this hour, the intimidating staircase of a thousand steps requiring steeper levels of energy than they currently possessed. Instead, they made their way towards the Red Lantern district, the steaming smell of fried dough enticing them through the sheltered alleyways. 

Helena walked in strides, shoulders square against the fold. There had been satisfaction in purchasing that rug, a responsibility she had been putting off for far too long. Two years, in fact, since that lawyer had read aloud her Mother’s will. Overcome by grief, she had agreed to an alliance with the stroke of an inked brush, consequences forgotten in her desire to uphold her family’s name. She clenched her fists for a second before releasing, her chest sinking with weight. 

It all seemed so foolish now.

But, right or wrong, regardless of how it all came to happen, she was determined to fulfill her parents' wishes to restore the Hawkes as nobility amongst Kirkwall’s elite. She had made her promises and her duties stood clear.

Helena understood that. Evidently, however, Isabela did not.

“It’s just such a tragic loss Hel,” she moaned, reviving the topic by gesturing towards Helena’s body, “I mean? All that? Locked into a loveless political alliance?” Dramatically, she covered her forehead with her hand, her lips curled in a pout. “I hope Fenris knows how lucky he was.” 

Helena turned pink, mouth parting before she snapped it shut. “He knows and so do I. I wasn’t what he needed.” She looked away, focusing on a lifted cobblestone in the road. “Two years have been long enough to process that, for both of us.” 

“Maybe,” Isabela quipped, swaying as she walked. “Or maaaybe... you’re just locking away that little heart of gold before someone comes along and steals it... and you’re using this whole family business as an excuse so no one will be the wiser!” She gasped, stopping in her tracks. “Goodness, I am a genius. That’s it.” Noticing that Helena’s face had turned as red as her kaddis swipe, Isabela laughed. “Oh, now you look like you’re about to blow a fuse. Better put that on hold, sweetling, because we’re eating here.”

Helena’s mouth gaped as her neck ran hot, goosebumps prickling at her arms. Isabela had already bounded into the shop, however, leaving Helena with no recourse but to shove her would-be retort to the back of her mind and follow her lead.

The bakery was fairly empty, its pink walls lined with thin cracks. Dark tables were arranged against the wall and checkered floor tiles echoed their footsteps, Isabela making a beeline to the display case. The smell was pleasant to Helena’s nose, the location a frequent stop when she wished to treat the staff for a job well done. The only thing that bothered her here was the heat, the flames from the ovens increasing the temperature of the tiny establishment to uncomfortable levels. She scratched her arm with mild irritation, both from Isabela’s comment and the warmth.

“Felicio! Two buns please,” Isabela exclaimed, then looked back at Helena, “Actually, make it four, the Lady Hawke is celebrating the end of her romantic life.” She leaned in on the dark counter, eyebrows raised. “Arranged marriage.” 

Helena shook her head, cheeks reddening at the knowledge that this news would spread like wildfire through Hightown by Isabela’s hand alone. “Go ahead and add three more.” 

Felicio Pintole, the owner, made a disappointed sound at the gossip, his thick mustache lifting with a frown, as though he had something to say. Before he could utter a word, his wife cut in. “Lady Hawke, is that true?” Lucine Pintole asked, shock reverberating in her voice. She gripped the counter, gray curls escaping her hairnet and twisting around her face as she leaned forward. “To who?!”

“No one of interest, I’m sure.” Discomfort was rising in Helena as she tucked a loose strand behind her ear. “One of the De Launcet’s sons. Constantine, I believe.”

The grumble of disapproval increased from Felicio as he filled a box with sweet Ferelden meat buns, though as usual, Lucine spoke for him, a frown pulling her features.

“Ohh.. goodness yes… Constantine…” she shook her head, bending to rest her forearms on the countertop. “Well, your family will certainly be secure. I imagine that’s the only reason you’d want to spend the rest of your life tied to him.” Her brown eyes squinted in thought, peppered brows knitting together. “Well. Rest of his life if you’re lucky.”

Isabela snickered beside Helena as the latter began to reach for her coin purse with her chin held high.

“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him.”

“And you won’t!” Lucine replied, throwing her hand in the air. “Maker bless you Lady Hawke, but ‘pleasure’ and Constantine De Launcet are sworn enemies.” Her nose scrunched, wrinkles piling as she began to tap her fingers. “That man is the definition of a no-good scoundrel. I heard his parents wrote him out of the family fortune because he was involved in some…” she paused before leaning in, her voice lowering to a whisper. “ _ Unsavory  _ practices… he’s as selfish as they come too. Sold Emile and a dozen of his friends out to the templars because Knight-Commander Meredith promised to purchase goods exclusively from his business. Can you believe that? His own brother!”

Helena paled, sickness turning in her stomach at the thought of a man who would so readily endanger his family for personal gain. Her hand twisted against the blue fabric of her dress as she cleared her throat.

“Well, they can’t all be winners. If I have it my way, and I will, I’ll have complete control of the household. Constantine will be a mere inconvenience under our ....” her tongue curled in her mouth. “...alliance.”

Lucine chuckled, a somber look in her eyes. “I pray to the Maker that’s so, Lady Hawke.” She turned away as Felicio handed her the box of goodies, which Lucine inspected with a critical eye. Upon satisfaction, she grinned. “Alright my Lady, that’ll be 20 silver if you please.”

Helena began to fish out her coin purse with a polite smile.

“Right shame though. I was hoping the rumors about you and the princeling were true.”

Helena’s eyebrows screwed together, her hand frozen in place as her heart stopped. 

“Sorry?” She could feel Isabela’s stare as Lucine winked. 

“Oh, playing coy aren’t you?” She shrugged, “I understand… he’s not decided on reclaiming Starkhaven I’ve heard. I reckon you’ve got to make the safe choice as the Hawke Matriarch.” The store-owner stepped back from the counter, dusting her flour-covered palms on her dress, “Smart. You always were the one with a bright head on your shoulders. That’s the Ferelden spirit in you.”

Helena’s eyes widened in surprise, warmth snaking up the back of her neck, her head spinning as she struggled to catch up with what Lucine had said. “You’re talking about Sebastian?” 

“Yae high, gorgeous skin, darling blue eyes and owns a very secret pair of leather pants we’re not allowed to see?” Isabela supplemented, her interest piqued.

Lucine exploded in laughter.

“One and the same!” She suddenly gasped, touching Helena’s arm. “Oh did things not work out with you, love?” Helena, fought off a stutter, jaw floundering.

“I was hardly aware anything had started.”

Lucine’s eyebrows raised. “Ah! So just rumors then?” 

“Friends, Lucine. Nothing romantic...” Helena explained, deft fingers plucking thirty silvers out, her face blooming in red. Ancestors, how was this happening right now? 

Isabela handled the box, slipping it open to grab one of the buns as Lucine accepted the money. “So those stories about how he came to your estate in the night with a bouquet? Or how he lights a candle for you in the Chantry every day?” 

Helena felt light-headed, the heat of the store working in tandem with her rising blood pressure to set her alight. 

“That’s-- I--” she struggled. “It’s true, but--”

Isabela gasped.

“No, I mean,” Helena exhaled, her hair whipping around as she looked between the two women, exasperation in her tone. “You know how he is Bela. Sebastian is just…” She chewed her cheek, “...a... kind … and compassionate man. He would do the same for any one of us.” The two women hummed, unconvinced. 

“That does put all the longing looks in perspective,” Isabela murmured, smiling as Helena turned even redder, her posture stiffening.

Lucine shouted. “Oh, I knew there was something there!” 

_ To the Fade with it. _

Knowing this would be a losing battle, Helena wrapped up the exchange quickly, dropping the coins on the counter.

“Thank you for your help, Lucine. Keep the change,” she uttered, making a swift retreat from the counter.

A giggle sounded from behind her. “Yes, thank you for the delicacies, Lucine! We would be lost without you.”

  
  


******

“Oh no. You are not getting out of this,” Isabela prodded as Helena locked the door to her room. The mage paced across the carpet, the strange need to draw the curtains closed spurring her to the windows. 

Stomach flipping, Helena grimaced, gripping the maroon fabric framing the glass. “I’m not trying to.” In a swift motion, the windows were covered, shrouding the room in darkness as she spun little flames towards the gold sconces lining the wall. In seconds they burst to light, affording her a breath of relief. Helena was unsure of the origins of her tension, but she was glad it had disappeared.

“You certainly didn’t tell me about all these midnight house calls!” Isabela teased, her eyebrows wiggling. “It’s like a romantic novel, Hel!” Her expression changed suddenly, her mouth opening in a gasp. “You hid naughty novel gossip from me!” Tongue clicks rang out as she folded her arms, pacing past Helena and towards her bed. “So much for best friends forever.”

“There was only the one!” Helena defended before leaning against one of the posters of her bed, facing away from where Isabela had decided to flop onto the mattress. “and...I’m sorry?”

At her friend’s expectant silence, she bit her lip. 

“I just-- Ugh. I am sorry. Really. You know I’m not good with feelings, Bela. Talking about them, and.. ‘Acknowledging them,’” she mumbled, covering her face with her hand and pushing her hair back. Her friend observed her distressed actions, a sympathetic quirk to her smile as she pressed gently.

“But there are feelings? Good ones?” 

Helena chanced a glance towards her, finding nothing but patience and compassion in her earthen gaze. She knew she should come clean with her, her lips twitching in desire, and yet, the truth was too difficult to reconcile with, the heat that had begun to infect her body at the bakery refusing to release her from its grasp. The situation was making her head spin.

She fisted her hands, contemplating creating a small flurry, but decided against it. It would be embarrassing to use magic to cool off, despite how Andraste knew she needed it.

“Of a sort,” she conceded, hesitant. “It’s… more like a mix.” Hair flew about as she shook her head, closing her eyes. “But honestly, whatever they are, no combination of feelings is going to be strong enough to get me to uproot my responsibilities. Even if they are about something I want.”

“Or what Sebastian wants.”

Helena froze, her mind protesting the image of him that erupted at his name. “Yes.” 

Sebastian… a flash of heat ran through her, causing her to flex her fingers and spark frost to life. He scared her. Not because he was mean, intimidating, or ruthless. In fact, he was the very opposite. Sensitive, careful and passionate, he had been sweet to her ever since their first meeting. Even when she was blunt and uncouth with her opinions about his views, he remained humble, accepting her criticisms with a patient smile and earnest thanks. An honest to Andraste, good man.

But when she found herself trapped in his clear blue eyes, or was captured like a fly drawn to his honey lipped smile, fire entered her veins, licking at the protective ice she had encased herself in.

And that would not do.

Not with the Hawke family name at stake and not while he floundered on taking back the city-state of Starkhaven.

“Ah!” Isabela exclaimed, raising a finger in the air. “I can see you thinking. No thoughts! Spit it out, Helena. What happened between you two?”

Helena looked to Isabela, searching her eyes for the confirmation she needed before gripping the post behind her and turning to stare at the far wall. “Sebastian... came by one night. After Ma’s funeral.” Her heart clenched and her mouth went dry as she recalled the details. “He wanted to see how I was doing...apologized for the lateness of the hour, with his humble smile.” Helena’s lips twitched a little, his face blooming to life in her mind, accented voice rolling through her ears in pleasant curls and turns. “You know, everyone says it’s not cocky but it is. Just a little.”

Isabela rolled her eyes with fondness punctuated by the shake of her head. “At least a little. Like a powder boy who survived his first encounter with a Man o’War. Thinks he’s a real pirate now,” Her eyes pooled for a moment before the snap of her fingers grabbed Helena’s attention. “Back to the story! Don’t distract me.”

Helena raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips pulled up. “Apparently, he had seen a bouquet of Tiger Lilies at a flower stand on his way back from the service. And...” she stumbled here, her mouth coming to close in a firm thin line as she recalled the events that came after. “This is silly,” she mumbled, her face growing warm with embarrassment.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

She looked down at her bare feet on the rouge carpet before resuming. “He thought I might like to plant them in my garden. That I was probably sick of white flowers by now.” And in a rare instance, she laughed. A bittersweet feeling. 

“He didn’t barge in like Aveline, or beg for details like Uncle. He just… gave them to me and said that he’d light a candle for Ma’s Remembrance.” Helena finished, scratching one of her nails against the post. “How can a person be like that Bela? So thoughtful and so foolish all at once. He walked alone through Hightown with the silliest, shiniest armor, inviting gangs to attack him, so he could give me some flowers.”

Isabela hummed, a curious smile on her face as she lounged on Helena’s covers. She had stretched out her limbs, tracing the pattern of her bedsheets as she contemplated, lashes hanging low.

“He’s quite capable of taking care of himself. You’ve seen that bow of his,” she shuddered playfully, her jewelry jingling with the movement. “Those hands were not just meant for praying.”

Helena snorted, letting the memory tuck itself into the confines of her heart as she rose off the post. She wrapped her arms around her body as she walked to the nearby dresser, a comforting pressure against her form. “No, they weren’t,” she hesitated, her softened features returning to set lines of sternness. “Even so, he hasn’t figured out what he wants yet.”

“And what does he want?”

Her mouth sank into a frown. “To reclaim the throne, both for the good of Starkhaven, and for himself. It’s clear that’s where he’ll make the best changes. He’d be an admirable leader, well-liked too.” she paused. “I know he wants it, you can hear it when he talks about being a Brother for the rest of his life. There’s a certain edge to his tone…” she gestured with her hand as she squinted, searching for the right words, “...a fidget in his eyes.”

Isabela threw her head back and laughed here, her hair splashing on the plush blue sheets. “Oh, if you could hear yourself talk.” She rolled over, pillowing her chin in her hands and staring up at Helena, mischief in her orbs. “Maybe you should push him then! Give him the ol’ Helena Hawke shakedown. You can be quite persuasive.”

Helena scoffed, looking away and twisting a hand through her hair. “I do, but… I don’t know Bela. At some point, he has to make the choice for himself.”

“What happens when he does then?” She proposed, eyes twinkling. At Helena’s skeptical stare, Isabela raised a hand. “Hear me out. What happens, when he figures it out, realizes ‘Huzzah! I need to step into my power and seize my title as Prince, rule over the lands, and take the beautiful Helena Hawke as my lover and Princess, because that’s what I want! Suck on that Elthina!’ And then! He marches up to your door, armor shining, Andraste’s light illuminating his heroic figure, and you’re sporting a wedding dress about to tie the knot with Jerktanstine De Launcet.” She paused, gauging her reaction before asking in a quiet voice, “What happens then?”

The humorous impression did little to soften the blow that hit Helena. It was exactly what she didn’t want to hear, the question hanging in the air between them as she processed her words, dark brows knitting together as she felt an unknown weight tug on her heartstrings. Any attempts to feel out the heaviness left her hands frostbitten, and so it pulled, sinking, its cords refusing to be cut.

“It’s not up to me, Bela,” she replied, stiff, but with an undercurrent of something she couldn’t quite place.

Perhaps sensing her friend’s melancholy, Isabela didn’t respond, letting the two of them remain in silence till Helena stirred from her contemplation and began to wordlessly unpack the buns they had purchased from the bakery.

*** 

Across The Free Marches, there was a carriage, its ivory wheels tugged along by a set of shining horses. Inside was a man, with hair the color of wheat and a meticulously groomed stubble, his thick fingers flipping through a series of letters that were scattered throughout the interior coach’s lavish velvet seats.

Scripted cursive letters bounced in his sight with the sway of the vehicle, most making up words that carried little interest to him. Out of the entire page, though, the presence of two heavy-handed lines filled him with delight, causing his lips to curl into a smirk.

_ “... if you are to prove your worth to us as our son, you will make this marriage happen… then we can negotiate the terms of your inheritance.” _

Constantine fingered his jaw, heart racing as he set the letter to the side to look at the small portrait his parents had so lovingly provided.

In blooming watercolor was a woman sporting an elegant champagne dress, her fine black hair falling in a singular wave to her mid-back, and her high cheekbones dotted with a small trifecta of beauty marks. Lips pursed in a tight line, her mono lidded brown eyes daring him to infringe upon her authority in the slightest way. 

Below the portrait was her name: Helena Hawke. 

The Champion of Kirkwall.


	2. Cracks in the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric breaks his ankle. Big oof for him, bigger oof for Helena.

Despite the clouds that cast a blanket over the coast, in her gut, Helena could feel the sun’s descent, a point of knowledge that made her insides itch. The journey back from the Bone Pit was taking longer than she had planned for, thanks to one member of their party. A certain, smallish rogue had broken his ankle during their battle with the dragon guarding the Bone Pit, and was now muttering open-ended complaints about how they “should’ve brought Blondie,” and “I thought all mages could do heal-y magic things,” as Fenris bent awkwardly to support his friend’s weight with his shoulder.

“Remind me why you won’t let one of us carry you?” The elf grunted, his green eyes scrunched in discomfort.

Varric scoffed, face red as he teetered along.

“Let a dwarf have his dignity, Broody! My reputation as a dashing, irreplaceable sidekick is on the line!” 

He stumbled momentarily, letting out a frustrated shout. Though Fenris was the closest in height to Varric, he still had what was almost a foot over the dwarf, making it difficult for the two of them to walk without coordinated legwork.

“Maker’s balls, Ice Queen. You really had to go for pointy murder icicles over healing hands huh? Just what were they teaching you in Ferelden?” 

Helena’s eyes narrowed, his relentless moaning irritating her more than the hours-long process of fighting through that infested mine. She was about to turn back and snap at him when a gentle voice came from behind her.

“You know Varric, I wouldn’t mind carrying you. You could be back to the comfort of the Hanged Man before Nora can say ‘fresh stew’!”

The dwarf halted, causing Fenris to stumble as he sneered up at Sebastian.

“Oooh no, you leave The Hanged Man out of this. I am perfectly capable of making this walk on my own, with Broody’s help.”

“Maker, Varric,” Helena threw her hands in the air as she made her way towards him. She gestured for Fenris to let Varric down and crouched as he sat with an “oof.” Her frown deepened, jaw clenched as she hoped to the spirits and faiths above that Varric had not overextended his ankle as much as he was complaining he did. Nightfall was nearing and the city was still a two hours journey away.

To her dismay, the dwarf had not been exaggerating. Removing his boot met her with a gruesome sight, the skin around his ankle swelling to unnatural proportions, its color bright red and inflamed. Friction from the leather had made the injury even worse, as a series of blisters formed around sickly blue and green bruises. She swallowed, looking away.

With deft fingers, she pulled a small face cloth from her satchel, conjuring a half band of ice for a makeshift cooling pad. The object was cold in her grasp as she twisted the fabric, just as she used to do for Carver and Beth. In seconds, his ankle was wrapped, the worst of it out of sight and the towel securely knotted. That would hold for the night.

Varric muttered his thanks as she stood, though his lips were curled into a pout as he refused to meet her eyes. A frustrated sigh was building in Helena’s throat as she had an inkling to what this was all about, but the fact of the matter was that she still had her party to deal with and the onset of night remained a growing threat. Settling for crossing her arms, she searched for the rest of her companions, concern plastered across her face. 

Fenris and Sebastian had taken up seats on some boulders nearby, fiddling with their various weaponry while Helena dealt with their injured party member. Upon feeling her stare, Sebastian looked up, prompting Fenris to do so as well. Their exchange was a silent acknowledgment of what they had all begun to suspect: it was time to make camp.

“I suppose this is as good a place as any,” Fenris shrugged while Helena’s backpack thumped on the dirt, an unceremonious clatter sounding from within.

“Wait what?”

“We’re camping,  _ Varric _ .” the mage grumbled, flipping the latches on her bag to retrieve rods for their fire pit. For once, he stopped talking, thick brows knitting together as he lifted himself off the ground.

It was not so much the existence of bandits alone that caused them to start shedding their packs and searching for firewood, but rather the combined threat of mountain lions, wolves, bandits, and whatever else was unfortunate enough to be on the Wounded Coast in the dead of night. Fenris, the only warrior amongst them, was the brunt of their defense, and with Varric down for the count, a safe passage was doubtful. 

The beddings were set within half an hour, Helena purposely laying her furs opposite of where the men had stashed theirs. Between Varric’s antagonistic mood, her ex-lover, and….

She cast a subtle look at where Sebastian organized his armful of logs.

... _ him  _ … she was better off staying as far away as possible. Her companions said little about her choice of arrangement, likely chalking it up to chosen solitude.

The first calls of owls had begun as Helena unpacked her bag, unveiling an iron pot filled with spices, and a small package of premade dumplings. She cradled it carefully in her arms as she gained her balance before making her way towards the pit Sebastian was lining with rocks. Despite her adamance to avoid close contact with him, Helena found her gaze drawn to his movements.

The archer was crouched by the side of the hole, skin cool under the purple toned sky. It was an odd sight for Helena to see, even after so many years of friendship. It seemed every time she envisioned him he was glowing with brightness and warmth, shedding his rays upon everyone who drew near. Regardless of darkness’s reach, though, he still had a shine to him, his armor reflecting the low light of the rising moon, allowing his eyes a certain sparkle that she hadn’t remembered seeing before.

Helena’s realization that she had frozen in step came suddenly as she swallowed, the blink of her eyes sending her back into motion as she knelt to hook her small pot to the stakes driven into the ground.

“What do you have prepared for us today, Grand Chef Helena?” Sebastian asked, his tone curling with a smile.

“Grand Chef?” she managed to scoff despite her racing heart, “Do I look like a five-star restaurant to you?”

Sebastian bit his lip, teeth peeking out as he grinned. “Your food would be more than worthy of the rating,” he watched her machinations around the unlit fire pit, brows lifting as if recalling a memory, “It’s always been better than any dish I’ve ever tasted. Even with few ingredients at your disposal. You’re quite talented, in more ways than one.”

His words were so gentle, so easy to get lost in… but with the shake of her head, she remembered herself. A small blush blooming, Helena tucked her hair behind her ear and looked away.

“If I weren’t so confident in my abilities, I would say your time with the chantry killed your tastebuds.”

With that, she got to work. Building pressure between her palms, Helena sprung flame to life, the blow of her breath sending it to devour the wood they had collected as the campfire roared. The warmth was immediate, flames crackling as Sebastian relaxed to sit next to her, his knee brushing against the outside of her arm. Heat rushed over Helena’s body, eating away at the cooling night’s bite that had sunken into her back and ears, causing her to scratch her hand in discomfort.

She scooted away from Sebastian under the guise of grabbing the wrapping of potstickers she had prepared this morning, turning her attention to the task of brushing off the ice that had kept them fresh for the journey.

A distraction was needed.

“Water dumplings again?” Fenris seemed to answer her prayers. Twisting firelight illuminated the bags under his eyes, the byproduct of a long day.

“Hawke family classic. I brought soy sauce too,” Helena replied, hopeful he would stay to chat but feeling her chest sink when she caught sight of his equipment bag. He had no intention to linger, planning on leaving Sebastian and Helena alone by the heat of the flame.

“Ooh, my favorite.”

His features relaxed as he stalked off, leaving little evidence of his true thoughts about the situation. Fenris was always level-headed, able to maintain an energy of peace much better than she ever could. It was a skill she admired on good days and coveted on bad ones. She watched his back as he left, a mix of emotions stirring within her. 

As time left their romantic relationship in the dust, Helena had realized that breakups between people rarely presented themselves in black and white. Most couples’ demises were as orchestrated and painful as a playwright’s tragedy, where two puzzle pieces, no matter how much they longed to fit, were simply engineered not to do so. Whether that be due to their responsibilities or levels in growth, their destinies, at least in this life, did not end in each other. 

Contrary to what one might have expected, this knowledge gave her strength, so much so that she could find no reason to weep any longer. There was no emptiness between them. Labels had changed and interactions could go down like glass, but at least she did not suffer the pain of losing a friend. 

“You alright, Hel?” 

Helena blinked, realizing she must have been staring after Fenris for longer than she had thought, the space he had occupied empty. Her lips tightened as she looked towards Sebastian, who looked remarkably comfortable stretched out beside her. The light from the flame danced upon his features, bringing out the shine in his eyes and proudness of his nose… she threatened her heart with violence should it not stop beating so fast.

“Varric’s been a bit much today,” she responded, drawing on the shivering energy around her to spin a block of ice into the pot. She watched as it steamed, its tendrils escaping the blackened metal with curls and wisps of every shape. “... I also didn't plan for us to spend the night out here.”

“And yet, we have a campsite stocked with food, a hot meal, warm furs, and a burning fire,” he replied. “Never let it be said that Helena Hawke ever came unprepared for a mission.” For once Helena found herself thankful for the flame, as she was certain a blush of unimagined proportions had displayed itself prominently on her high cheeks. “As for Varric… he was being more than a little unfair to you. But you kept your composure well.”

“Oh, how you lie to me Princeling. I’m sure you could tell I was going to snap.” 

Sebastian hummed beside her, his lips tilting ever so slightly. His deep stare lingered, appraising her challenge before turning towards the dark sky above them.

“The Chant of Light encourages us to be earnest in all our dealings, even the most private of conversations shared between companions by a fire.”

“‘Earnest?’ Yet another fancy way for you good Andrastians to get out of telling me the truth.’” 

The prince laughed, a beautiful, full laugh that made her chest tighten and a smile break onto her face. He shared in her grin as he looked back at her, declining to comment on whether she had been right or wrong in her assessment.

“You’re ridiculous,” she admonished, though the smile remained as she looked around the camp to see if their conversation was as private as he had insinuated. It turned out he was telling the truth, Fenris gone and, surprisingly, Varric a lifeless lump in his furs, soft snores emanating from the back turned towards them. Sensing her curiosity, Sebastian supplemented.

“I believe he dozed off the moment he managed to get his bedding unfurled. I offered to help him, but…”

“Varric…” Helena groaned, looking back towards the pot of now boiling water and resting her cheek on her palm. “At least he’s quiet now… His body will finally start to heal too since he’s not pushing it to hike through a damned injury.” She scowled at her friend’s foolish actions, beginning to funnel the dumplings into the metal pot to cook. When she had finished doing so, Sebastian handed her the ladle so she could stir.

“I don’t recall him being so irritable…” the prince mumbled, resting on the back of his palms. He watched Helena stir with interest, his eyes following her hands as they dashed an array of spices from little containers into the pot. Her mouth pinched as she concentrated, trying to ignore the way her skin crawled when she felt Sebastian’s eyes on her. Helena had always been aware of his interest in cuisine, and in their early days of friendship, it had been easy to hold his companionship by the fire. As of late, however, she had begun to feel that his observances were more intense than they had been before, stirring butterflies in her stomach. 

Helena attempted to change the subject, in the hopes of avoiding an accidental injury under the pressure of Sebastian's attentive stare.

“No more irritable than Elthina after you’ve been running around with me, I imagine?”

Sebastian's lips pulled tight, his brows dipping and shadows obscuring his eyes. With the question came a rush of goosebumps over Helena's body, as if the mood had suddenly changed. Oh, Maker. Why had she brought up Elthina? 

“She isn’t the most understanding of our relationship.”

Helena could have buried her face in her hands for the tactless subject choice. She could feel her chest tightening, palms prickling as she attempted to find something to say that would smooth this over. Trying to sneak a glance at him proved fruitless, as his eyes were still obscured, the rest of his face appearing somber.

If she were being honest, Helena did not like Elthina. From the moment she had met her, she was wary of the way she spoke to Sebastian, with too innocent eyes and twisted words of the Maker. It was clear the feeling was mutual, every visit to the Chantry to see her friend ending in a venomous bite from the Grand Cleric and Helena swearing to herself that it was the last time she would ever step foot there. If Elthina hated her, then good. Helena was just fine with that.

But even so… 

Her heart protested. 

Sebastian was the third party in this relationship, one who was undoubtedly being pulled apart by the conflict between them. His pain was real, present in the way his brow pinched, and how he looked ever so slightly down as if prepared to be berated for seeking a truth of his own. Helena’s heart sank in her chest, straining against her ribs. 

“.... I’m sorry Sebastian. I know you care for her guidance a great deal.”

Clear blues met her browns as he stared, light surprise weaved in as he processed her words.

“Thank you…” he uttered, a little bashful. “Our friends don’t often take me seriously when I say she’s like a mother to me, but she is. Ah, you see, my own wasn't too interested...” He trailed off before seeming to think twice, his face's contortions so opposite of his typical smooth and optimistic smile. Helena desperately found herself wishing to smooth out the line of his frown with her own fingers, pushing against the soft skin until the worries beneath had disappeared. “Forgive me," he mumbled, shaking his head. "I just find myself wishing she could see what I see in you, Helena, but it seems my word is never enough.”

Thumping like a drum, Helena’s heart inspired shudders in her breath as she tightened her grip around the fabric of her leggings.

“Mothers…” she started, eyes pinched. She forced a breath through her lungs. “We like to forget it, but Mothers are people. They can be nice, kind, and nurturing….or they can be cruel, blame us for things we can’t control... scare us. They make mistakes and do terrible things.” With a rare, reassuring glance, she let their eyes meet, watching the light of the fire dance on his pupils.

“They shouldn't, but there’s a lot of things people shouldn’t do," she sighed, feeling out of her element as her heart creaked open the slightest bit. "I don’t know. All I can say is I understand what you’re feeling, but I cannot tell you how to deal with it. That’s up to you.”

Sebastian absorbed this information, his eyes wide and his plush lips parted as if it were the first time he had ever been afforded that freedom. That couldn’t have been the case, could it? No, surely someone other than herself had said those words, encouraged him to make his own choice, with no strings attached.

His wondrous watch said otherwise, and Helena grew nervous under his gaze, an expression there she wasn’t quite ready to accept. She looked away, threading her fingers through her hair, finding stability in the tiny threads that kissed her skin.

“You show me too much kindness, Hel.” 

Her skin reddened as she kept her vision on the flame.

“Just the right amount I think.”

They sat in silence for some time, Helena’s body easing with each passing minute. She had managed to empty her head of thoughts as the red leaped and darted before her eyes. Despite her anxieties of speaking with him earlier, it seemed natural to slip back into conversation with Sebastian as he brought up Varric once again, gently reminding her that she had never answered his inquiry.

“Ah…. well the complaining was expected,” she began, “but it’s unlike him to attack me so personally. I think he might be upset with me.” 

Sebastian appeared slightly perplexed, his brows falling low on his face.

“Upset with you? What could you have done to warrant that?”

Helena, lulled into such a comforting sense of security, was nearly about to answer before she remembered who exactly it was that she was talking to. In an instant, she changed course, her ladle ringing against the pot as she straightened her back, blinking like she had had a cold bath of ice water dumped over her head.

“Oh, who knows. He’s probably just being sensitive,” she peered closer into the pot, grateful to see that the dumplings had softened just in time for her escape. “Anyways, the food is done if you’re hungry at all.”

The archer watched her flip in attitudes with interest, a puzzled expression pulling his lips. There was a moment when she expected him to call her on her avoidance, to force her to give up the secret she had been concealing from her friends. To her surprise, however, he let it go, giving her a comforting smile instead. “Very well then. I’ll let everyone know.”

Tenseness did not leave her body until she saw him disappear around the bend to gather their companions. Helena finally slumped on her knees, a few hairs falling from her half-bun and into her vision as she watched the fire crackle and pop. She was getting far too comfortable with the Prince for her liking.

Her fingers were cold as they swiped back at the loose hairs, forcing them into place as she closed her eyes. She just had to center herself. 

A moment’s breath was all it took before Helena lifted from the ground to retrieve her bag of bowls and utensils, the shadow of a bird soaring overhead as the moon rose to its throne in the sky.

* * *

Aside from the howls of wolves and clinking of chopsticks, dinner had been silent. There had been attempts at conversation, spearheaded by Sebastian as he would recall some funny event or another, but other than a few wry comments from Fenris there was little exchange to be had. 

Helena finished first, laying her sticks flat across the empty bowl and casting a detached eye towards Varric.

“I can take your bowl when you’re done.”

The fire seemed to snap as he met her gaze.

“That’s thoughtful,” he said, his tone casual, but eyes hard. Anger soared inside Helena but she tamped it down, determined not to let the rogue dig his way into the upper hand. Instead, she kept her face neutral, reaching out to take the bowl he offered in silence.

“What’s gotten into you dwarf?” Fenris broke the stalemate, frustration leaking into his tone. 

Helena tensed, raising her brows. She hadn’t expected him to say anything, considering he wasn’t one to engage in unnecessary conflict. Even now his body seemed at ease on the ground, his arm hanging lazily over one knee. In truth, however, he had been keeping his composure with Varric for most of the day, despite how many times he had literally stepped on his toes. Fenris was bound to run out of patience sometime.

Varric scoffed, his eyes incredulous.

“What’s gotten into me? My ankle is broken and probably hanging by a thread off my leg, it’s colder out here than Meredith’s heart, and, oh, yeah, Helena’s decided that the best thing to do with her life is to give it away to some noble asshole for money.”

The precipitation in the air around them nearly froze into little icicles as Helena jerked up, her mouth gaping and eyes wide.

“Varric, why?!”

“You know what Helena, that’s a great question!” he retorted, brows squeezing together. “I mean, you pull yourself up from Ferelden dirt in Lowtown, gain riches on riches and establish yourself as a noble, become the Champion of freaking Kirkwall, and you’re going to throw that away for some family legacy?! Did you forget how your Mother treated you?”

Helena’s cheeks were burning red, adrenaline coursing through her body as she tried to steady her breath. Each one that escaped her was a betrayal of her composure, its frequency shuddering and shallow. Worse than that was the pressure building behind her eyes. She clenched her jaw.

“Varric. You don’t know a damned thing about my family. What I do with my life is none of your business, and if you had any respect for me you wouldn’t have acted like a child and brought this up in front of everyone.”

“If you had any respect for me, you wouldn’t be giving us up for a family fortune.” 

Her temples were beginning to ache from the tension in her face but anger flowed through her, contained only by her steady grip on the bowls in her hands. Swallowing the pain, she turned away, running her thumbs over the ridges of the bone. 

“I… I-..” she floundered, her mouth opening and closing before her eyes pinched closed. Words were so difficult. “I’m not discussing this with you,” she eventually breathed. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

She heard silence behind her before Varric seemed to concede, mumbling something indecipherable. 

It felt as though the tightness of her jaw was the only thing keeping her feelings and anger bottled inside, her flesh screaming as vicious fractals pierced her heart. 

Rage. She felt rage. 

Her brown eyes fell to the bowls in her hands along with the first drop of water. Watching it curl around the edge and pass over the soft blue colors of a hawk, nesting in a tree with its lover, her heart seemed to ache as much as it did on the night Ma never came back. 

Hurt… She felt hurt.

A hand on her shoulder startled her enough to increase her grip on the delicate material, resulting in a sickening crack as the ceramic chipped beneath her hands. Everything around her seemed to turn to ice as her eyes widened to the size of saucers, the Starkhavish accent calling out to her sounding hundreds of miles away. All she could see were the pieces of the bowl she had cracked, splitting the birds apart from their nest, the navy art fractured.

She could hear his apologies, her name repeating, but as she met Sebastian’s eyes all she could do was tell him 

“Don’t touch me.”

And still clutching the bowls, she made off into the night, leaving the only spot of light for miles around to seek refuge in the darkness.


	3. Sunset Lips and Honey Smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helena feels bad about what happened at the coast. But peaches will solve everything right?

Peach fuzz tickled Helena’s palms as she pulled at the fruit, each satisfying snap easing tension in her chest. Picking moon peaches in her estate’s courtyard had become a remedying pastime in recent years. Where she often began the activity with harsh tugs and yanks at the foliage, she would eventually slip into a rhythm, tempered by the watch of the sun peeking through the branches above. 

The fresh aroma wafted past her nose, encouraging Helena to close her eyes in solace. She could still recall her joy at the sight of those first buds, green under the afternoon’s rays. It would have never been possible without Merrill, her extensive knowledge of the Earth and intimate relationship with Dalish magic nurturing the once abandoned peach pit till it sprouted as high as the second story awning.

A leaf twirled past her as she balanced on the ladder, placing each pinkened fruit in her cloth covered basket. Arranged in neat rows, the moon peaches were beautiful enough to be sold at Hightown’s market, though that would not be their purpose today.

Helena swallowed as she ran her eyes over the curvature of each fruit inspecting them for any purple blemishes or soft dips in their skin. 

They would have to be perfect. After all, they would play an important role in her apology to the group’s resident prince.

No, she wasn’t trying to buy his good graces with some well polished fruit, but…. She sighed.

Helena didn’t know what she was trying to do.

Her eyes squeezed shut as the memories from their last mission trickled back against her will, each image making her pinch her brows harder in humiliation.

The disastrous confrontation between her and Varric had led to her explosive departure from the camp, the sounds of her pulsing blood eclipsing the voices that called out to her. It had been freezing along those sheer cliffs, the wind whipping against her hair as she marched through the darkness with only the moon as her guiding light. Filled with anger, fear, and hurt, all she could think to do was stomp about like a child, rage seething out of her like hot breath on a chilled morning.

And so she stomped. Helena trudged through the hilled ridges till each star in the sky twinkled their sympathies and sharp pains shot through the nerves in her feet, her legs sore and refusing to drag her further. The sea salted gale had tangled her dense strands in sticky clumps and left red lashes on her cheek, making her feel beaten and heavy with emptiness. 

It was then that she returned to their campsite, her parents’ wedding bowls having been tucked in a pouch off her belt, their edges cushioned by her sash. All things considered, they were in better condition than she, her dark eyes swollen and red from fury while her mouth sat firm beneath chapping lips.

As Helena scanned the camp, a frustrated huff escaped her.

Black trails of smoke curled up from the center pit while stamped out embers coated the surrounding area with ash. Her jaw tightened. It was a smart decision; the light source would have attracted wolves or bandits. Still, it was one she found herself personally besieged by as she shivered, her bones wracked with cold.

Chewing her lip, she cast a look towards the dark bed rolls lining the edge of their camp. Several people shaped lumps disrupted their slopes, further scrutiny uncovering a flash of white and blonde. Varric and Fenris, sound asleep. So that meant…

“You’re back.”

Helena sucked in a breath at his voice, her heart jumping at the way Sebastian’s timbers curled through her chest. As she turned her head her thick hair parted like a curtain, revealing his full armored figure, blue eyes reflecting the shine of the moon above. It seemed he had stayed awake to guard the camp…. Or to watch for her return. Her fingernails dug into her palms, but they did little to stop her trembles.

“I am.” She didn’t know what to say as he took in the sight of her, too much like a mess, her body failing to conceal the weakness she was so desperately trying to hide. 

Sebastian’s blues peeled over her, his lashes coming together in a display of concern. The line of his mouth seemed to waver when he noticed her paling hands and stained cheeks. Under his gaze, Helena stiffened, all at once afraid of disrupting his vision and showing weakness. Her nerves seized the opportunity to sink their claws into any exposed piece of her heart, weighing it deeper and deeper into a sea of anxiety.

He shifted his stance, as if he were about to walk forward and bridge the gap between them, but was stopped by the sight of her flinch. Eyes widening in response, his hand froze mid raise, tucking back to his side as his skin reddened in the little light offered by the moon.

“I’m really sorry, Hel,” he eventually offered, causing Helena to swallow as she considered a response.

“It’s not your fault.” It wasn’t.

“Even so…” Sebastian trailed off. “I wish I could’ve been of help. I know it’s not much, but…. I’m here for you. If you need me.” He dipped his head in humility. “It is your decision, though. I won’t take offense, whatever you choose.”

Helena wavered for a moment.

He was giving her an opportunity to walk free. If she wanted to, she could depart from his company and tumble deep into the soft furs awaiting her embrace. Solitude was little more than ten steps away. And yet... her legs stayed firm. To Helena’s surprise, no matter how much she willed her feet to move, they remained grounded, her stare anchored to Sebastian’s. Her heart stuttered as she began to panic, pupils growing in size as he watched her with ocean eyes.

His depths were both an escape and a way of drowning.

Having gotten lost in his stare, Helena blinked, her face burning as she realized how foolish she must’ve appeared.

“What is it? Why are you just standing there,” she blurted, her demeanor changing as she attempted to recover from her stumble. Suddenly her chest burned, prompting her to cross her arms and straighten in her stance. Confusion ran through Sebastian’s features but didn’t linger long as he answered her query with an inquisitive smile.

“I’m waiting for you, of course.”

“Well. Can you wait for me somewhere else then? I hate it when you look at me like that.” 

He watched her. “Like what?”

“Like…. Like….” Helena floundered, eyebrows narrowing. “Like…”

“Like I want to help you? Like you deserve to be treated like any other, with patience and compassion?”

Helena, nipped by the chill, flared her nostrils. Irrational suspicion had risen within her, Sebastian’s gentle expression invoking fear. 

“Just! Go to bed Sebastian.”

He put his hands up in soft surrender, though did not take a step back. Helena couldn’t tell if her mind was playing tricks on her or if his lips were really turned up at the ends. “I just want you to know I’m here for you. If you need a shoulder to talk, or company to keep...Mother Havisma always praised my listening skills during initiation. I’ve got a good pair of ears,” he said with a light chuckle.

“You…” she mumbled, her brows twitching in confusion before she spun around, biting back a comment. Maker, she couldn’t take that stare of his, how it made her insides boil with passion and come dangerously close to speaking the truth. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll decline.” With a stiff back, she walked, intent on escaping his pull. Helena had only managed to take a few steps before Sebastian’s voice rang, sweet as honey, from behind her.

“Goodnight, Hel.”

She grunted.

Not even four paces out of the ten had been completed before the mage found herself turned around and face to face with the prince--of her own accord too. She stared him down with narrowed eyes, their skin inches closer than she had expected but leaned into it with folded arms and squared shoulders, ignoring the alarms ringing out inside her head as she felt the heat of his cheeks radiate towards hers.

“I don’t need advice. You understand that right?”

_He stared back._

“Yes. You don’t need advice, I understand. Many don’t.”

_His breath tickles..._

Helena hesitated, red blanketing her cheeks. “Then, what is it! Why are you looking at me like…”

_...you care?_

“... you have something to say?”

There was a beat that passed between them as Sebastian’s eyebrows rose, his mouth twitching ever so slightly. Clear cerulean colored with hesitation, his pause just long enough to make Helena’s stomach twist with nervousness.

“I don’t think I could give you an answer that you don’t already know.” he settled. “I’ll be here if you have a need for me.” Sebastian’s eyes flicked down for a moment at the short distance between them before stilling to her gaze. “You know… you don’t have to fight me, Hel.”

Her heart beat frantically as she watched him, a strained feeling pushing against her rib cage. This couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t allow it. Her hand brushed against the pouch of her belt, the shards inside shifting as she let out a small breath, looking down. It was a stark reminder of what was at stake should she give in to the momentary desire of her emotions.

Reentering their shared gaze she tried. She made every attempt to break apart his image in her mind, feeling along his visage for cracks in the fresco, pinpointing his lack of commitment, pricking her finger on uncertainty. All the while, his eyes seemed to plead with her behind their deep shield, proposing something she dared not consider. Helena took a deep breath, looking away as her mouth formed the words that would force out the man that had begun sparking embers in her chest once again. 

“You have no obligation to me. Get some rest.” 

A drop of silence hung between them, lying across the tension of their relationship with ease.

When Helena decided to look towards him again, her eyes widened at the shift in his demeanor. Rather than the gentle perplexedness from before, she met a new expression in his face. One characterized by a gaze that was hard and soft all at once and with brows curved in both upset and determination. Still, there was rigidity, his muscles taut with tension like that of the string of his bow.

Restraint, she realized.

She braced herself for his oncoming push as they each seemed to measure themselves against the other, apprehensiveness that hadn’t seemed to exist less than a week ago swelling to a size beyond belief. 

But, it never came.

With little more than a nod, Sebastian accepted forced departure from her space, shoulders straight as the wind began again, stinging Helena’s cheeks.

The mage stood in confusion for a moment: she hadn’t expected that. 

As she watched his back, a shudder ran through her. Only in the absence of his warmth did she realize that the plaguing cold had returned.

Quietly, she made her way over to her furs. Though her joints ached and her fingers were stuck from frost, she managed to remove her armor without issue, paying special attention to lay her belt just so. In just a few minutes, the metal pieces were arranged by her bedroll, ordered from smallest to largest. She tried to ignore the clinks of armor from Sebastian opposite the pit between them, turning away as she buried herself in the wolf pelt. 

Sleep was hard-won, the howls of coyotes and circling birds distracting enough on a regular day, but alongside the fresh wounds of conflict, comparable to a battle. There was a point where she found herself shivering both from exhaustion and cold, the furs failing to preserve warmth in her body. Desperately, she manifested small wicks of flames on her fingertips, careful to keep the light low as they hissed in and out of existence. The heat was meager, but it was warmth.

It was only when she had closed out the flickers for the fifth time that she felt a heavy weight drape over her, wafts of incense and candle wax hitting her in the face. She dared not turn as Sebastian’s footsteps receded, hundreds of thoughts and questions jumping to the surface of her mind at his impromptu act of goodwill. The dark brown bear pelt was large enough to cover her up to her nose and without thinking she burrowed in, allowing the surprising warmth to consume her. A stark blush ran across her face as her eyes pinched closed. He had been using it.

Whatever fearful rant her mind was about to enter was stilled, as with a deep breath lavender entered her lungs. Sleeping aids. It was only a matter of seconds before she was out, her mind finally quieted by the help of the archer.

Embarrassingly enough, Helena awoke last, her rest leaving her head heavy and vision blurred. Shuffling feet around her roused her from her daze as a scan of her surroundings revealed that the camp had already been packed and set. She realized with wide eyes that the boys had intentionally let her sleep in, and still clutching Sebastian’s blanket around her, she scurried to pack up, her chin held high in a defiant attempt to seem composed. 

The melody of screeching gulls danced upon the crashing waves as the party descended into Kirkwall, their group spared of any awkward conversation. Once they had breached the city walls, they went their separate ways, Fenris saddled with the unfortunate task of shuttling Varric to Anders’ clinic. Sebastian offered to accompany him to make the travel (and destination) more palatable, his gaze flicking momentarily to Helena as Varric began another round of complaints. 

Her response was a simple thanks for their help before she turned her back on them to head towards the miles long staircase to Hightown.

Now with days passed and a mind oriented and at peace with the part she played in what had gone down, it was clear she owed Sebastian apology. Or maybe four.

Satisfied with her harvest, she began her descent down the ladder, absentmindedly extending her long fingers to count all the ways she had wronged her faithful companion.

One: Told him to get lost. Oops.

Two: Lashed out at him after she got lost in hi-- spaced out.

Three: Rejected him.

Four: Unwillingly stole his blanket (It was now locked away in an unused chest on the highest shelf in her room).

And… oh. 

Five: Avoided him for three days straight.

Helena tilted her head back and hissed a curse as she entered her estate, her cheeks burning red as the cool air from the interior washed over her. She couldn’t have been a bigger jerk to the kind soul, who, the whole time, was just trying to help her through her complex situation. A click left her mouth as she smoothed her hair back and made her way to the kitchen. Even though it wasn’t _really_ any of his business… he didn’t deserve the brunt of her hostility.

Breezing into the room, she set the basket of fruit beside the kitchen sink, shaking out her arm from the effort of carrying it. Her hand grasped the cool metal of the sink spout, blocking its sparkle from the window as she twisted it to on, marveling at the glistening water that came out. Leaving it cold, she began the methodical process of washing the peaches she had gathered, sinking further into her musings on the prince.

She shook her head. 

_Sebastian…_

“Messere Hawke!” 

Helena turned, her thoughts popping away like bubbles as she met the face of her loyal head of staff. “Any luck today, Bodahn?”

The dwarf shifted from foot to foot, his hand coming up to twiddle with one of the braids of his strawberry colored beard. “Ah, unfortunately not.” Helena’s heart sank slightly, her eyes falling. “I’m sorry Mistress, but it appears that the specific type of glue you requested isn’t common in Kirkwall. Most of the merchants I inquired with had never even heard of it.” An awkward chuckle escaped him as he covered his mouth with his fist. “Funny how that is? They’re always bragging they have the best goods from all over Thedas, but when it really comes down to it….” 

A scoff left Helena’s lips as her eyebrows narrowed, the pressure of her palms increasing as she scrubbed any traces of dirt from the fruit. “Ah, of course. How could I expect Kirkwallers to know anything of fine crafting? These plates? I mean...” She shook her head, cutting herself off before she entered into her overzealous rant about the cutlery. “Thank you Bodahn, I know you gave it your best effort. Take some peaches before you go, for Sandal too.”

The man smiled with knit brows and bowed his head with appreciation, patting her on the arm. “I’m sure it’ll turn up, Messere. Don’t lose hope now.” 

A thin smile flitted across her face. “I’ll try.”

His lips tilted up in support, about to leave with peaches in his hands till something seemed to occur to him. “Oh, before I forget, you received a letter while you were out. I’ll leave it on your desk.”

She mumbled her thanks as the dwarf took his leave, turning back to the sink. Alone again, Helena continued to wash the rest of the peaches, the news disappointing, but not a surprise. Since her return from their mission, she had been desperate to find a sealant to repair her precious chipped bowls, but it had been a struggle. They were handcrafted in Judian, presented by her Auntie as gifts to her parents to celebrate their union. The translucent bone would not stick with just any substance… What she needed was june leaf resin, though where she would find it outside of the Land of Dragons, she had no idea. That quest could be tucked away for later though.

The tap closed with a squeak as she dried her hands. The peaches were done.

She pinched her eyes shut and took a breath, basking in the quiet light of the window before releasing the counter from her grip.

_Ancestors don’t fail me now._

*******

Helena felt like a fool sitting in the Chantry Courtyard. Her heart pounded in her chest, palms uncharacteristically moist with sweat as she fiddled with the tips of her hair, perched on the rim of the fountain. It was the only water feature in Kirkwall, spotlighting great stone eagles pouring streams of water from open beaks into tiered pools below. Its cerulean tiled bottom was covered in coppers, their bronze shine reflecting the tangerine sky left in the wake of the setting sun. And it was miserable.

She could hardly find peace in that setting, her eyes scouring the seas of red capped passerbys, seeking out the only one with burnt red locks and armor as blinding as the sun. It was embarrassing to keep craning her neck like a dog awaiting its master, but she had already made it this far. Pushing her nerves down with her fists, she threaded a hand through her hair, taking a breath. 

Just thirty more minutes. If he didn’t show up by then, she could leave.

She swallowed before resuming her watch on the Chantry doors.

Helena had come to the religious center on the vague notion of happening upon Sebastian, and bearing her gift on the crook of her arm, had heaved open the ancient metal doors without hesitation. Her last-second adrenaline fueled confidence had served to get her to the holy place but was apparently a mistake to utilize in her entrance. As the doors swung open and slammed against the walls with a resounding clang, Helena drew the eyes of the tens of faithful gathered, their faces contorted in shock and confusion as it dawned on her that she had intruded into a sacred Confessional period. Her mouth gaped before she was able to stutter out an apology and scurry back to the courtyard in order to wait for the Prince there.

She bit her lip in embarrassment as exiting sisters passed Helena and her basket of peaches. Their tall hats of red seemed to tower above her and lily soft giggles passed their rosy lips, making her look away and blush. Never had she felt so out of place.

Another fifteen minutes of gawky surveying pushed her to the edge of her seat, the butterflies in her stomach beating their wings hard enough that she was inches away from packing up and leaving. It seemed in the nick of time that a glare of white shone from the Chantry, Sebastian making his descent with easy steps and a pleasant smile on his lips. He hadn’t seen her yet.

Helena froze, her mouth growing dry as she wondered how to get his attention, the prince bridging the distance between them with every passing second. Mouth opening and closing, sound refused to leave her throat as she attempted to call his name, the watchful eyes of the surrounding population shriveling her typical confidence and energy into a pulp. Thankfully, Sebastian seemed to hear her silent call for help, his eyes finding hers in the crowd and crinkling with a grin.

Her pulse raced under her skin as he made his way towards the little fountain she sat at, and suddenly she found it prudent to straighten her back and adjust her hair parting one last time. In seconds he stood before her, rubbing the back of his neck as he smiled, surprise mixing with elation on his features.

“Helena? What are you doing here?”

It was as if the last three days had never happened.

“I....” she trailed off, her mind running empty as she took in the sparkle of his eyes. Dark blue, then light, then clear… diamonds amongst coastal waters...

In an instant she yanked up the basket of peaches, holding them in front of her body like a shield as she stood. “I picked these-- Er. For you. Moon Peaches.” 

Wonder appeared on Sebastian’s face as she felt heat run up hers, anxious tingles flying through her body in waves as he appraised the gift she offered. “That’s very thoughtful of you!” He gingerly accepted the basket, leaning his head down to inhale the natural aroma from the fruits. Eyes fluttered shut as he smiled, an angelic expression to say the least. “These smell amazing, Hel. I’m grateful you’ve taken the time to bless my evening with such a sweet snack.” Blues found her again. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve had the pleasure of receiving your famous moon peaches.”

“You were quite overdue, yes.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, looking to the side. Ancestors, this was mortifying. Sebastian’s smile seemed to crook at her small movements, his own eyes casting down with a modest smile as he placed the basket to the side.

“Well, I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble. With the amount here, I’d hope you’d have kept some for yourself.”

“Oh, no! It’s nothing. Really.” She shot out, eyes wide before they pinched shut. It took a great deal of effort to get herself to settle. “We have plenty of them, the tree is very fertile. I just…. Well…”

His gaze was neutral, patient while she struggled to pry her throat open, her face reddening in shame at her difficulty. Despite all the times she had been able to speak her thoughts without hardship, her airway had decided to tighten up when she needed her words most.

“I just wanted to apologize for what happened on the Wounded Coast,” she put out, her eyes glued to her boots as her thumb passed over her lips. “You treated me well. Better than well, even and still... I lashed out at you,” She shook her head, feeling pink and lightheaded. “That was wrong of me. I know it was, and I knew it at the moment too. I think I just have some…” she trailed off, chewing her bottom lip before making a vague gesticulation with her hand. “Some issues.”

A smile passed through Sebastian’s face, sympathy lacing his features.

“Whatever problems you might feel you have, you should know you needn’t shoulder them alone. These ‘issues’ you see in yourself are hardly a burden to me.” Noticing she seemed unconvinced, he softened his voice. “Since you won’t believe me, might I suggest asking yourself?” She watched him with a blank expression, so he took the lead. “In our seven years of friendship, have I ever once disparaged you for speaking to me honestly?” He cut her off as her mouth started to open. “‘No,’ doesn’t mean that I’m planning on starting now.”

She fidgeted, perplexed that he could predict her response. Sebastian was right. He had never made her feel silly for confiding in him before, even with the simplest things. Like when BaoBao had drooled on her freshly done calligraphy, or Isabela had broken into her room because she didn’t want to make the walk back to the Hanged Man from the Blooming Rose. 

She looked down.

_And with more serious things too._

“Honesty or not, my ill feelings don’t justify me acting like a stubborn ox.” A cringe froze her features. “I’m truly sorry Sebastian. You’re a very patient man, even now. You waited up for me at the camp, offered your shoulder even when I refused, shared your blanket with me….Oh Maker’s blood, I forgot your blanket!”

Though Helena seethed an embarrassed flush, Sebastian’s laugh rang out, genuine and light on the evening breeze.

“You hang onto it. Never know when you’ll get stranded on the coast again. Whether I’ll have the luck to be around to give you another is a matter of fate.”

He drew a small chuckle from her, shoulders relaxing a fraction. A dip of companionable silence passed as Helena looked around the courtyard, observing that it had become much more tolerable in the absence of crowds.

“I feel about as foolish as Anders mistaking Orlesian soaps for chocolates,” she muttered, a tiny smile pulling the corners of her lips. 

Sebastian looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Not even close,” he seemed to hold his tongue for a moment before giving in to the urge. “Besides, no one is more foolish than him.”

Mouth opening in feigned surprise, Helena looked to him slyly. “Oh, a little bite from the good Brother! Is that Cheeky Sebastian I spot?” she sighed. “What would Mother Havisma say?” 

She basked in his groan and soft exclaim of ‘no,’ amusement tickling her heartstrings at the pleading look he seemed to sport whenever she teased him. “How would you know, anyway? If I were being foolish that is. I might have been lashing out because I packed the wrong broth for my dumplings and you would have never known. You always justify my actions too quickly.”

“My defenses are well placed,” he affirmed, with little room for argument. “In truth though, I had a very loud source for my information. Varric voiced more of his thoughts on our way to Anders’ clinic.” He paused, tongue in cheek. “I know about the betrothal.”

“Oh.” 

It was all she could come up with to say. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” It seemed the Maker was giving her a second chance at her conversation with Sebastian, his brows tilted in the same concern that he had shown three nights ago. “Come on, Hel. If you can’t get yourself to do it for your heart, do it because it's the wisest course of action. I was third in line for the throne, after all. I know the political maelstrom of arranged marriages like it’s the back of my hand.” An idea seemed to occur to him. “I could be your consultant!”

“You…. could?” The word turned over in Helena’s head. _Consultant._

“Absolutely. There are a number of preparations you’ll need to make, after all. It can be quite stressful to go through alone.”

She considered this, eyebrows knitting together. It wasn’t out of the question that Sebastian might be of help to her with this scenario. There were a number of things that she required coaching and guidance on in relation to the contract. Mother wasn’t around anymore to walk her through the process, and it’s not as if Bodahn or Orianna had much experience with the inner machinations of Kirkwall’s upper class. 

“I think I would like that.”

Sebastian’s eyes seemed to light up, his lips spreading. 

“You would?”

Her lips twisted as she looked away in light embarrassment. “Well don’t make me change my mind.”

Once again his laugh filled the courtyard, making her frown turn up as she raised a hand to cover her mouth. It only took his joy to make her grin.

“Helena Hawke, if it so pleases you, I promise I will help you become the finest bride Kirkwall has ever seen.” His expression seemed to freeze for a moment, ice over his eyes as his lips fell taut. In an instant it was gone, replaced by a more subdued smile, blues gentle as the sea, as if a glacier had not passed through and turned his waters cold. “It won’t be difficult. You’re already the most beautiful woman in the city.”

Helena thought she might explode at his words, her face feeling hot and feet resisting the urge to run away from the feeling that had wormed its way into her chest. 

“Thank you,” she uttered in velvet tones, thankful her voice had not shaken.

Silence descended on them, not as companionable as the previous one. This quiet had weight, like a veil that grew all too hefty with the pressure of the moment. It almost seemed to tangle around them, the droll of the fountain fading into the background along with the calls of Kirkwall’s birds. In that space, she was locked in, staring up at him. Sebastian’s skin was radiant in the golden hour, his locks soft, curling, and in reach. 

“I should go.”

Helena’s voice crashed through the delicacy of their moment, preventing Sebastian’s falling eyes from reaching their destination. His throat bobbed, pious countenance broken as his pupils refocused on her, brows rising. 

“Ah-- Of course. I’ve kept you long enough. It’ll be dark soon.” He shifted on his feet, hands finding the sides of his belt to feel for the dagger she knew he kept there. “Might you need an escort? It wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Her heart thumped in her chest as she shook her head, palm finding its way onto the cherry wood staff strapped on her back. “It’s just around the corner. Thank you though. I’ll be sure to reach out to you should I need advice…”

She backed away now, but hesitated, her mind wracking with the hundreds of things she wished she could say to the prince.

“Thank you. For everything.”

With a humble smile, Sebastian replied. “Anything for a friend.” 

The walk home was brief, Helena’s pace hurried along by the sky’s descent into rich blue. She tucked her hands under her arms as she crossed Hightown, boots clicking on the cobbled pavement in a steady rhythm that soothed her overexcited mind. Her stomach was filled with butterflies, it was undeniable, their beating wings shaking her core. It was with great relief that she crossed the threshold into the estate, the warmth from the hearth reaching her in an instant. 

She mumbled a greeting to Bodahn as she shed her outerwear, Baobao’s barking echoing through the estate as he bounded towards his master with gusto. With a tentative smile, she pat the mabari, his slobber splattering as he jumped about with joy.

“It’s good to see you back safely, Messere,” Bodahn called while Helena rubbed the furry beast’s belly, a bemused smile on her face. “I trust all is well with Master Vael?” Her hand paused, BaoBao curling about on the rug to look at her with questioning eyes. She shook her head, resuming the pets he craved.

“It is, actually.” 

“Ah, well isn’t that lovely. I had a feeling you two would make amends,” he cooed, turning the page of his book. “Good heads on your shoulders…Now enjoy the rest of your night Messere, and don’t forget about the letter.”

Helena stood, dusting the fur off of her leggings and robe as she cast a smile towards Bodahn’s armchair. “Thank you, Bodahn. You too.”

The letter was laid in the direct center of the desk, secured tightly with a red ribbon. A frown pulled at her lips as she reluctantly retrieved it, the parchment soft on her skin. 

That color meant nobles. 

She climbed the stairs, each increasing step poofing away the butterflies that had spun excitement in her just moments ago. Instead, she felt a sudden bout of nervousness, her thumb coursing over the silk soft fabric that contained the message as she crossed the hallway to her bedroom, the lined portraits of the former Amells bearing their gaze down at her figure.

Once in her room, she heaved the door shut with her back, a small breath escaping her. Helena walked on slippered feet to the four-poster, Baobao’s giant paws padding alongside and interrupting the spread of the comforter as he climbed up to lie with her. With the warm head of her companion nuzzling against her thigh, she undid the ribbon, jaw tightening as the scroll lengthened in her hands her brown eyes fixated on the maroon seal of the De Launcets. With every passing phrase, her chest sank, fingers tightening at the inscribed message.

_Dear Mistress Hawke,_

_As of late, Dulci and I have been overcome with great joy at the potential union of our two households. Since our last meeting, after dearest Leandra’s passing, we have found that we are anxious to meet with our future daughter-in-law, and perhaps get to know her better before she is officially wed into our family. We humbly request you join us for tea tomorrow, at our estate. It will simply be a marvelous opportunity for the three of us to socialize informally, without the weight of contracts and lawyers present._

_We look forward to seeing you at 3:00, for what promises to be a delightful afternoon._

_Cordially yours,_

_Comte Guillame De Launcet and Comtesse Dulci De Launcet._

Dread crept down her spine as she let herself fall back onto the bed, the scroll loose in her hand as she stared at the dark bed frame above her. Its wooden curls swirled, her head spinning as the elation of the evening disappeared fully now, her body succumbing to the iron weight of responsibility she had managed to forget for the first time in months. Absently, she dragged her hand over Baobao’s thick fur, the motion prickling her cold skin. He huffed beside her, snuggling into her stiff frame as her eyes pinched shut.

_Maker._

_What are we going to do now?_


End file.
